Bee Cave Magic

by Kelly Fox

By the way—a bear shifter selling honey in a place called Bee Cave is a little on the nose, no? Just me?

I used to tell Momma every time it felt like something magical was stirring in my body, until the day I caught a look—a mixture of annoyance and pity, with a little “bless your heart” thrown in for good measure—that revealed an ugly truth. She was placating me, knowing I’m about as magical as a gym sock. So, yeah, when your momma doesn’t buy it, it’s hard to believe in your own magic.

Not that I lie awake at night, imagining what the mating moment feels like, sobbing in my tuna can of a house, while my life and family pass me by. Because that would be pathetic.

He stands and crosses his stupidly muscled arms over his stupidly powerful chest, towering over my bent frame. “You have emergency honey needs?” No, I just need to be able to drink my weak tea without a boner, sir. But I keep that to myself.

“I’m a fucking jackalope? Are you kidding me?” I’ll be honest, it’s hard to sound indignant when your voice has gone up three octaves.

I went to his hand like I belonged there. Hell, I just called him “my bear”, which is patently ridiculous. How did Micah die, you ask? Well, he turned into a jack-ass-alope and literally hopped right into the bear’s mouth. Rex’s dark chocolate eyes sparkle. “I’m not going to eat you, Micah.” “Oh really? Then why do you look like you want to swallow me whole?”

Oh, Lord. Micah is amazing naked. Beautiful. Delicate. Barely any hair on his body, anywhere, and just goofy enough that I want to snuggle, then dive head-first into him. Meanwhile, I sit bare-assed and cross-legged in the grass, strong arms and legs, my belly taking up most of the space between my thighs, hairy in every crack and crevice.

“It's good, right?" His eyes don’t meet mine, but he nods his head. “It’s probably the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.” Oh, bunny rabbit, I’m going to give you something better to put in your mouth, soon enough. Okay, that was a little possessive and creepy, in addition to being unbidden.

Waking up to antlers is going to take some getting used to. I'd gone to sleep with an adorable, cuddly man and woke up with an adorable, not-so-cuddly jackalope. I absentmindedly stroke behind his ears, enjoying his soft fur under my fingertips, glad there aren’t any little bunny pellets in my bed.

and I scratch the little space between his ears and antlers. “Mornin’, bunny rabbit.” You know, I forgot two things about rabbits. First of all, they’re easily startled, the result of being a prey animal. Second of all, rabbits scream when frightened. Oh, and third, a screaming rabbit equals rabbit pellets in the bed.

Thankfully all of the doors are closed, because he’s racing around the room, screaming his head off, flinging poop pellets everywhere.

“Please teach me how to stop doing this to you. I’m especially interested in the not-shitting-on-your-bed module.” He runs his hand through his hair, emphasizing his muscly build. “Oh, come on. They’re pellets. It’s cute. Definitely a much cleaner pick up job then, say, what I produce.”

“Thank you for making me feel like I belong to you," he says, his eyes shiny with emotion. “Never thank me for doing the thing I am born to do. I look at you, and the only thing I want to do is take care of you and have you take care of me, so that neither of us has to feel alone in this world ever again.”

Swear to Jesus, I am never not the most humiliating version of myself.